Redivivus
by GeminiGemelo
Summary: The dark prince had fallen, meant to be mere scraps to the hyenas. As far as he was concerned, his life was over from that point forward. Yet something unexpected happened... for the world works in mysterious ways, and bestows the gifts of life and death for reasons we do not understand. [ This is a re-write. For details, inquire within. ]


_**A/N: **_

_Well, this is what happens when you sacrifice a night of sleep... for science! Or, as the case may be, writing a redo of a fic which I've personally half-forgotten. As I'm sure most of you have._

_I'm going to apologize in advance, for 1) those of you who actually liked Instigation, and 2) for those of you who hate rewrites. Which is probably a lot of people because we all know that everyone and their brother wants to or does re-writes for fics which they feel were stupid looking back on it, but had potential. (Or for more publicity because they were unhappy with how little reviews they got after writing and posting a fic in... like... one week. Whoops! Did I say that aloud?)_

_In my case, I'm kind of stuck with this fic as it was my first. I never finished it, and for that I feel bad. In all earnestness, I often find myself scrolling through Trampled or Thus Always or maybe a one shot when I'm bored and looking back and smiling to myself stupidly (come on, I'm not alone, right? ... Right?), but I never touched this fic. I could only read about a chapter or two before I was officially sick with a case of the Cringes. (Alright, so it's only a year and half old, but come on! I was 13! Isn't that everyone's excuse?)_

_So this was born after over a year of chronic Nonupdateitis. I figured that, even if I didn't finish it in its original form (which was highly unlikely, seeing as how I grew disillusioned with it after only a few months, and that was a year ago), it was better than nothing. I tried to stay true to the original story and plot, although frankly I've forgotten where the original was even going, not to mention it was quite convoluted. So I'm playing it by ear. Mostly I want to rework the mechanics and technical aspects of the writing and cut out all the stupid parts which I don't want to read (sorry again to those who liked it, I'm just being honest)._

_Maybe, that way, I'll like it. And you'll like it too. And we can all be one happy, Instigation-liking family that can gather around a campfire and read this for fun instead of constantly head-desking._

_Well, maybe we can forget that last part. It's the lack of sleep, I'm telling you. x)_

_Bon appetit! Or however they say that. xD Enjoy._

* * *

There was a moment, brief as it was, in which all seemed to be the end. And those moments, frozen in despair, lost in the barren plains of hopelessness… those had to have been the most terrifying, the most scarring moments in all of his life.

It was ironic, in a way. That he should be the one to die like this, trapped and cornered like a wounded, helpless animal. Pushed aside like a worthless cur. Oh yes, he'd done this to many others, but he'd never been the one to perceive the world as just. 'Life's not fair', he always said. It was a motto that had fit the times, justified the slurry of sordid and mendacious crimes he'd committed in his life. But that didn't matter anymore, for he saw—with astonishing clarity—just how much he'd been wrong to think that. In one moment of understanding, he realized how everything he'd done, everything he'd _thought _he'd gotten away with, had come back to bite him… to bring him down swiftly and cruelly. It was an eye-for-an-eye world, one which did not forget his actions.

One which did not forgive his actions, either.

And so it was that his despair had been born. For surely, in light of everything that had transpired, he should not expect any mercy from… well, whoever or whatever it was that was responsible for this ark of justice, this intertwining web of action and reaction, of cause and effect.

Yet that, in a way most ironic and curious, was also wrong. For reasons he neither perceived nor understood, he lived. He was given a second chance.

And thus ended one chapter, to make way for a new story to begin.

* * *

The days were long and hot in the plains of Africa, where an exceptionally and mercilessly long drought had been raging for as long as many could remember. Memories of better times were vapid and faraway, half-forgotten under the dust and the burden of many days of torture and helpless agony. The local inhabitants had not been passive, but alas, they had been all but powerless in their attempts to restore the landscape. Only one had held all the power of the land, but he—whether in ignorance or malice—had neglected his subjects and the place they held so dear to them.

It had been an unbearable and very regrettable set of circumstances, but the fact remained that, even despite recent and rather noteworthy events in the area, not much had happened to better the land's condition, and all their efforts had been mostly in vain.

In short, the weather did what it would. Usually it was content with having the sun beat down on the ground for hours straight, or taunting the meager creatures of the land below with hundreds of billowing grey clouds which would not drop any rain—a game which greatly taxed the morale of every living being under that same sun. Great swaths of grass dried and died, the rich and verdant green hues which were so widely-known turning a yellow and then a putrid brown. The few trees which still lived had twisted up from the ground like sparse sticks, their meager limbs snapping off and shedding their leaves as though in fright. Everything seemed to have been drained of color, like the earth had transformed into some sort of perverse grayscale photograph.

The fire had not helped, either, instead ravaging the dry lands and letting it all combust in a frightening, almost awe-inspiring conflagration. They would have admired it if it hadn't been so deadly: the loss of life amongst the plains creatures was upsetting to say the least, and the thick helpings of ash spread abundantly around did nothing but burn the lungs, smother the plant life and make every living creature—even those that were barely and painfully breathing—worry for the coming months.

Their only saving grace had been the small bit of rain, which was the necessary hydration to extinguish the fires that the same storm had started with its lightning. Briefly everyone had felt hope, like they'd been spared the brunt of the turmoil and that the condition of the flora and fauna would seamlessly return to normal. Too bad the rain had receded as quickly as it had come, having barely put out any fires or soothed any wounds before it was gone like an early morning mist.

It was in this corrupted land that the dark prince, the seeming vanguard of death and the harbinger of all things bad, including the weather, awoke.

Well, at least he awoke _eventually_. For that process had taken a while. He'd been lying under the sun for a good amount of time, and he had been grievously wounded as the results of a fight he hardly remembered against foes he could not recollect. It was unfortunate, in a way, but alas, life wasn't fair. He should have figured he'd wake up sprawled out and face-down in the dirt, as though dead, in the middle of some nowhere he had once ruled over.

He stifled a moan, decidedly against making any sudden movements. Slowly and carefully, he shifted onto his side, stretched, and moved over onto the other side. All this he did without opening his eyes, for he wasn't sure he wanted to see what was around him yet. If it was as painful and depressing as he thought it would be, he was better off curling right back up and dying.

He supposed that, in a way, that would have been easier. But instantly a sort of force pricked inside of him, a small little voice telling him what he already knew: that he didn't want to die. That he would hold onto life by doing whatever was necessary, regardless of the cost. Lying passively and being a defeatist had never helped him, and it never would. As such, he finally decided to turn and look, at his surroundings and at himself, in the hopes that it would help him figure out what had happened and what, if anything, he should do next.

His eyes uneventfully slid open and revealed a set of piercing, acid-green irises which calculatingly surveyed the ground around him. He moved his lips in dismay as he tried to think up a suitable word for what he saw.

Dry? No, that wasn't quite strong enough. Barren? Desiccated? Parched?

None of them were exactly right in describing the corpse-like husk of land which he saw stretching before him. He stared out into it, able to see for what looked like many miles. For once there had been hills here, a series of ruddy brown and yellow and green humps extending towards the horizon, but that was when… his brother… had ruled. Now it was just flat and grey.

He swore surreptitiously under his breath, looking at the culpable orb which had dried all the land up. It was golden, just like the majestic and all-too-benevolent face of his perfect older sibling. He half-expected a red mane to come sprouting out of his fringes, and it took a long while to convince himself that now was not the time for such ponderings—no doubt he was delusional and seeing things, for to even think that the sun would imitate the former golden king would be… ridiculous?

His tongue lolled out suddenly and he panted, being harshly reminded of just how harshly bright the _damned _thing was. Why couldn't it be cold out? Or better yet, why couldn't he have woken up at night? He could have blended in and perhaps, if he found the strength somehow, snuck away, but _oh no_. No. He had to be stuck in the most stupidly hot weather, in the most barren and dry and boring place imaginable under the sun…

He suppressed a growl, waiting idly for the pricks of burning sweat on the back of his neck to drip away as he cursed his luck at being born with dark fur and a jet black mane. Already he could see that his exposed skin was beginning to develop a nasty sunburn.

Now he realized why the huntresses always complained so copiously and loudly. There were no signs of life around. Hell, even classifying himself as a 'sign of life' was a stretch. As long as he lay there, motionless, he was somewhat numb to the pain. In a way, he almost felt detached from his corporeal body. He vaguely wondered if everyone felt this way before they died… it would explain some things. But alas, he was still vaguely aware of the taste of blood on his tongue, the smell of it on the ground. He shifted himself gently, trying to avoid drastic movements lest he exacerbate his wounds, and attempted to look at himself.

He didn't like what he saw. What bothered him most was that he couldn't understand from where, exactly, these wounds had come. The claw marks down his sides looked deadly—this was no single lioness picking a fight with him. It was planned, and obviously executed by more than one being. Jagged marks crisscrossed his flanks and one curved across his belly, looking dangerously deep. His limbs were scored quite awfully, and a shameful amount of his coat and mane had been scorched off, leaving bare and blistered red skin behind where the fire had burned him. Whatever fur was left was singed at the tips, matted and, as an additional bonus, covered in ash, leaving his breath as a hoarse, stinging wheeze.

As much as he didn't believe in miracles, he knew he was lucky that he hadn't been lacerated worse. Someone must have rescued him, must have taken him out here and away from that fight, for he certainly didn't remember _walking _here. It was definitely for the better that this mysterious entity had intervened… But who? Why? When? And where were they now?

"Well, look who it is!"

He jumped suddenly, muscles tightened as he realized that someone high above had called down to him. There were no trees around, nobody on the ground… and so he stared straight up, eyes piercing into the hovering form of that _accursed bird_. The new king's sycophantic, pandering, obsequious, annoying, over-gratifying, measly little pet. He sighed audibly, for the two of them had always had a sort of mutual disdain for each other, a strong dislike that was punctuated by traces of pride. The little hornbill seemed to think he was the most important bird to waltz across the lands in the king's service, and that showed in his actions. His foe thought the opposite. Indeed, the dark lion's ascension to the throne had not dimmed their stiff, barely contained contempt for each other, and as of now he had no reason to expect mercy from the loose-beaked messenger who had flown from the land's new regent.

Were the avian on the ground, the lion would attempt to show him a lesson or two with his claws… but he had neither the wings nor the strength to do so now. Unfortunately.

"I must tell the king, this _can't _be true! I must go, I must hurry… before… he…"

The bird's voice faded as he flew off, leaving his words to sink in as the deposed king lay silently with his thoughts.

Deposed. That sounded odd. Wrong. He had been a sovereign, yet now he was just the butt of some sick joke that had cost him his position, his title, and his… power. He was helpless now, and he no longer belonged here. Which was just as well—his surroundings looked quite bleak and unfriendly anyways. May as well just leave, just rise and leave while no one was around…

His throat constricted as lay there, realizing that this quiescence, this _lack _of other life around, would not last long. Once they found out he wasn't dead, that he was still alive and still on lands that did not belong to him, then they were liable to punish him for… trespassing. Not like that was the most of his worries. Surely he'd be killed on the spot for everything else he'd done. After all, he was supposed to die all along. That was how it worked: he was the loser, he'd drawn the short stick… and so he would face judgment, punishment, and suffering at the hands of the winners.

He had to leave, immediately. As it was they would be on his heels shortly, and that was something he could not let happen if his life was important to him. The lion rolled almost lethargically onto his bloodied stomach, a hurt moan disrupting—almost violating—the quiet air. Slowly he began stretching and twisting his legs, as though to figure out how or even if they would hold his weight and work properly. He propped himself on his forelimbs, trying to plant his paws into the dusty ground. His back hollowed out and his hind legs were still lying on the ground, placed far out from under him.

This would be tough going.

He tried to push his legs under him so that he could perhaps pry his body upwards, letting his sharp claws grip the dry earth, but the thin, abused limbs shook like pitiful twigs, the sore muscles twitching in silent agony. A roiling pain quickly spread, burning and searing hot, throughout his lower torso. He gritted his teeth and hoped, despite himself, that it would work, that maybe he could stand and stagger away to a hiding place… Yet he knew how this would end, for there was only one way that it _could _end. He would not be able to find his footing.

His tired legs finally gave way and slid out from under him, sending him back to the ground in a slumped heap. Immediately he wanted to try again, though he knew it was useless. His body was tired and worn, and he needed rest. Maybe, given the circumstances, the new king would take pity on him and spare him his life…?

No. That would never happen. His spirits sank at this obvious revelation, for he'd tried to kill his nephew several times before and still would not pass up a chance at taking his life. There was no reason for the estranged little furball, whether he behaved like his father or not, to refuse to execute him in turn. Besides, his now infamous uncle was in pain. Maybe he would think that that was the merciful thing, maybe he'd send him a little swipe of a claw as a coup-de-grace instead of making it a bloody and openly vengeful ordeal. Surely, at the very least, he'd be more merciful than whoever had doled out so many wounds upon him.

His lips twisted into a sick grin, as he was again plagued with the phantom of delusion, and he was even able to let out a hoarse chuckle. He'd never realized it, never realized just how much his power had meant to him until he'd lost everything. It'd gone to his head in a rather disturbing way, shoving him into a cloudy and irrational state of madness that had grown and receded at random during his rule. Even in his lucid moments he was something of a tyrant… power, in its raw form, fascinated him once he possessed it. So sad that it should see fit to leave him so capriciously. It got him to thinking… for alas, all his life he'd lived by the sword… and only now was he seeing the other end to it.

He cursed his luck, for he no longer had the ability to do anything else. All he could do was lay there, eyes drifting shut and his breath quieting as he relaxed. Everything was foggy, the edges beginning to blur into darkness. There wasn't much point, he was going to die anyways. May as well do so… do so… on his own… alone. In peace.

_Crunch._

His ears pricked as he heard the sound of a footstep on the ash, forgetting everything he had previously told himself. He jerked his head up rapidly, neck creaking painfully as he hoped that it wasn't his nephew or another of his many enemies. This wasn't the time… he didn't _really _want to die—it was merely a necessary evil. Yet if it had to be done, couldn't he ask for just a few moments alone?

"Oh, my. I see you've awoken?"

He'd recognize that voice anywhere. He squinted his eyes against the bright sun and replied, his voice containing a twinge of doubt as though he were uncertain.

"Err… yes?"

A young lioness appeared within his line of sight, confirming his thoughts. She looked just as he remembered—her body narrow and slender like his was, yet in contrast oddly unkempt. A scrubby mop of hair sprouted just behind her ears. A 'mini-mane', she had called it, as there was just enough thin hair there to cover up a few of the features on her jagged, angular face: most notably, the bold stripe which extended from the space in between her scapulae to somewhere on her forehead. That was her most prominent feature… aside from, of course, the ruby red eyes which always glimmered with a trace of bloodlust.

She had known him for a soul mate, as they were alike in more ways than he had ever dared to admit to her.

"I was afraid you wouldn't," she cleared her throat, letting her voice—which was already raspy and now hoarse from the ash—lose some of its tacit strain, "… wouldn't wake up. I tried to find some food… it looks as though all the creeping, crawling animals this side of the border fled from the fire. Anything too _stupid _to not have fled by now was smart enough to have stayed well away from me."

He let out a soft grunt to show her that he recognized and appreciated her efforts.

"We should go." She nudged him, somewhat urgently, in an attempt to incite him to his feet. "I nearly ran across some of your old cronies on the way over, and spirits know what would happen if they found you here like this. I reckon they'd finish their job and then beat it… your boy-prince nephew will be none too happy to see them… and finding hide or hair of us isn't going to please him, either."

The dark lion raised an eyebrow, not sure if he'd ever heard his darling little follower speak so much at one time. That was a good sign. She trusted him. And at this particular moment, he would have to trust her, also.

"Dear? Can you get up?" She nuzzled him again with her pointed black nose, piquing nothing but mild regret and irritation within him. He still didn't think he could move. An obvious obstacle to any daring escape plan she may have conjured up.

"No, not now."

She grimaced visibly, but not for her own sake—oh no, that could be sacrificed. The lioness immediately and nobly lowered her head down to him, motioning for him to climb aboard.

"Don't worry, love, I can take you on my back."

The former prince allowed himself a skeptic expression at that. He'd probably crush the poor bony lioness before ten paces had gone by, even taking into account just how lithe he was and always had been, even before the drought.

"That's not necessary, I assure you. I'll just… hold on to you.."

He wasn't too sure of that, either, for that would require standing on at least his own two feet. His face scrunched up inadvertently, just wishing he could be somewhere else, safe. Alas, if it weren't for his supporter there, all hope of living could well have been tossed abruptly out the window.

"Okay, sweet."

She offered him her shoulder, stooping slightly so that he could wrap his arm around her frail body. His claws dug in for grip, and though he hadn't meant to be harsh, he could see her grit her teeth in discomfort.

"Is this alright?" He stifled a groan as he wedged his other paw under him and leaned heavily on her for support. The limb wobbled and buckled slightly, but it didn't give way. In fact, it was just enough for the soles of his back feet to stand firmly under him, his claws still scraping the ground for traction.

"Yes." She suppressed a moan herself, though her body was strong—if a little emaciated—and she stood firmly, able to take his weight against her and the slight pricking in her skin. "Now go, love."

The lioness reassured him, bracing against the awkward movements that came as he attempted his first step, and then a second, and a third. It was slow going, but it was all they could do. They walked forwards, together, under the hot sun, hoping that it would set soon and that they could lose the gang of hostiles sure to follow by that time. If they could find a place that could offer them at least temporary sanctuary, that would do, for she and her kin had already planned out a measly home in the outskirts of the territory after the new king's ascension. If she could get him there, they would be relatively safe, and his wounds would have an opportunity to heal.

In the meantime, they merely had each other for company and for support, the staggering lion and the patient lioness heading north. After a while, she wasn't too worried—the place where they had started was out of sight, and the occasional soothing breezes both cooled their sweaty bodies and disrupted the ash which had held their tracks. Whenever a party arrived to search for them, they would have a rough going, especially after the sun set and they breached the rocky, hilly area near the border.

Perhaps things were looking up… maybe they weren't so bad off after all. Maybe they were deposed, and maybe they didn't belong in the land anymore… however, there lay a sliver of hope in the horizon, distant yet attainable. Of a life still unknown, with future actions that remained unplanned. It could have been their paradise, their vengeance, or their biggest opportunity… It could have been all those things.

But they still had a long way to go.

* * *

_Yay, so you read through it! Great. Finishing note up here._

_Well, as of now, it's 5:32 AM and I haven't had a lick of sleep, so I apologize for incoherence (even though I'm twitching with energy and feel just fine, thank you very much). I think around midnight I just set my mind on staying up all night and writing this instead... the sun's actually been shining and the birds have been singing for about an hour, which is irritating and oddly creepy. -.o_

_I didn't really want to write anything else, so I gave you something different. Title is some word which means rebirth/resuscitation and is etymologically related to renaissance (it's either Latin or Italian, I know I'm being really specific here). _

_Music I used for this chapter (in case you're curious, as music helps the so-called "muse" and sets the mood when I write):_

_"Let You Down" - _Three Days Grace

_"Deathbed" - _There For Tomorrow

_"Youth" - _Daughter

_There were others, of course, but I'm probably boring you by now, so... just look those up if you want. They're good, I promise. I think I'll actually do that every chapter... hmmm..._

_Well, if you want to comment, do so! I'll be here all week! Ta-ta and happy... well, retroactive reading. XD_

_Twin :)_


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